


Inside This Ancient Heart

by lewilder



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Zutara Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8007694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lewilder/pseuds/lewilder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She and Zuko, on the other hand—she feels like they've been old forever, even though they're still young enough by most standards.  The baby in her arms coos and she shifts her gently, cradling her head and smiling, only to see a gratifying, toothless smile beam from rounded cheeks in return."</p>
<p>A series of domestic drabbles written for Zutara Week 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. dragons

**Author's Note:**

> these are loosely interrelated post-series drabbles written for zutara week 2016. all are entirely domestic in nature. consider these the “awwwww, family!!” interludes in the larger political and entirely more plot-driven story that would be going on, i’m sure, as neither zuko nor katara are ones to rest in their own ease at the lack of serving those in need. please and thank you.

_i. dragons_

.

.

.

People stretch out around the traveling palanquin for as far as Katara can see, bright colors smeared in heat like the land that surrounds them.  The servants pulled back the curtains before she and Zuko left the palace to be placed on display during their trip to Caldera’s Fire Temple.

 _They_ are not so much on display, however, as her burgeoning midsection, round and _obvious_ now as she approaches the end of her pregnancy.

High midsummer is not her favorite time of year to be pregnant.

"It's good luck," Zuko had offered hopefully when they'd first calculated when the baby was due to be born.  "Traditionally speaking.”

"Because _tradition_ says those children are likely to be firebenders,” Katara had countered, before she concluded, both in hope and in spite, “The baby will probably be a waterbender, and that'll show them all."

Now, with a few scant months left until she and Zuko— _Fire Lord Zuko_ , she still chokes on the thought sometimes, that her husband, the strong, struggling boy who chased her and her friends all over the world, has come into his own as the ruler of his country—welcome their first child, Zuko has enlisted her help in reinstating an old tradition, one that had died out after Sozin's time:  the lighting of incense in the Fire Temple to bless the birth of the new royal.

"It will help gain more support from the traditionalists," he'd said simply, and Katara understands.  There are too many groups to please and appease, and all Zuko wants to do is rule justly.

Now, he squeezes her hand and offers her a small smile as they look out over the crowd that's gathered to _spectate_ as they take part in the rite.

For as much as the journey to the temple is pomp and public spectacle, the ceremony itself is surprisingly quiet.  Katara and Zuko stand with their guards at the entrance to the temple while a Fire Sage gives a speech about the history of the rite, of asking for the blessings of the spirits and of the dragons.

Of course they'd want to summon the dragons' aid—they all want firebenders born to them, after all.

After the speech, the old sage leads Zuko and Katara away from the crowd, back through the main part of the temple and into one of the rooms off to the side.  Their guards follow, but with enough stealth to allow the royal pair a sense of false solitude.

The side room is quiet, lined with candles on shelves, and in the front sits an incense burner shaped like a dragon.  Zuko lights two sticks of incense and, once they’re smoking, he hands one to Katara.  They move quietly, always quietly, because the Temple has a feeling both of being too-old and always-watched, as they set the cloying scents into the burner.

The little dragon glows distantly from the embers.

Zuko sighs, leans over to kiss Katara's hair, and smiles wanly when she squeezes his hand and smiles up at him.

When they leave, the process reverses itself, and they go from the dark into the bright, searing light.

Back in the palace, when evening comes, they drink tea.  It's a habit that falls over them like a sigh of relief at the end of each day, a quiet time for just the two of them.

Soon it will be just the _three_ of them, when they share a baby in their arms.

"The ceremony today was nice," Katara offers.  "It was less...pompous...than I was expecting."

Zuko rolls his eyes.  "It's older," he says.  "From before Sozin got his hands on things.  That always helps."

"Mmmm," Katara agrees noncommittally.

The warm evening air hovers above them, around them, and in the cocoon of quiet, Katara begins to think about heading to bed, when Zuko says firmly, "I hope this baby's a waterbender."

Katara blinks herself out of her reverie.  "Why?"

"Firebenders...  Firebenders..."  Zuko struggles to find the words.  "I would want him to be like the Sun Warriors' dragons.  Pure.  Not like my family.  So many in my family have had their firebending tainted.  They tried to _become_ the dragons, to own firebending, but it only made them monsters."

Katara's fingers twine with his and she smiles, overlooking his use of the word _him_ for a baby she suspects—although she has no way of knowing any more than she does, save mother's intuition—is a girl.  "Zuko," she says, "this baby has you for a father.  Not anybody else, and even with all that history," she gestures toward the palace that surrounds them with her other hand, "look where you've ended up.  This baby would be a firebender like you or like Iroh, not like the others."

"Or he could be a waterbender like you," Zuko reasserts stubbornly, and the tilt of his mouth tells Katara that he appreciates her support.

"Or a nonbender like Sokka," Katara says.  "There's lots of ancestry to choose from, if we're going there."

Zuko snorts.  "Can you imagine a little Sokka running around?"

"I don't have to imagine it," Katara points out.  "I lived through it."

Zuko considers, then grins.  "It'd be kind of awesome."

Katara giggles.  She slides her hand to rest on the swell of her stomach and searches with her bending to feel the heartbeat that resides there.  "Yeah," she concedes.  "It would."

The heart beats strong, and that's all that matters.

.

.

.

_tbc._


	2. ii. reincarnation

_ii. reincarnation_

.

.

.

"Throw me up in the air again, Uncle Aang!"

From where she sits in the shade of a tree in the garden, Katara holds her newest baby in her arms and watches as Aang plays with her older children, who squeal and ask to be thrown into the air again and again and again.

"He's really got the advantage in that game, doesn't he?" Zuko asks, slipping down to a sit next to her.

Katara smiles fondly.  "Mmhm.  I think he might be their favorite uncle right now, although I'm sure they'll appreciate Sokka more once they're old enough to actually throw a boomerang with any measure of coordination."

"Or when they decide they like jerky.”

Katara settles against him, and they watch in silence for a while.  It's _comfortable_ in a way she couldn't have imagined years ago, when the war was freshly ended and she and Aang ended their relationship.  And here she is with Zuko for a husband, watching the Avatar play with the Fire Lord's kids with as much enthusiasm as he ever approaches anything.

If Aang still hurts, still holds any lingering resentment that she is married with a growing family while he, the Avatar on whom the fate of the Air Nomads rests, remains single, he doesn't let on.  Really, she thinks, he seems most comfortable in this role—he can put on his serious face and command nations to cooperate, but he probably won't ever lose his spirit of play.  Even when he's old, he'll still be young.

She and Zuko, on the other hand—she feels like they've been old forever, even though they're still young enough by most standards.

The baby in her arms coos and she shifts her gently, cradling her head and smiling, only to see a gratifying, toothless smile beam from rounded cheeks in return.  Eyes on their daughter, she says to Zuko, "Did I ever tell you my parents wondered if I was the next reincarnation of the Avatar when I was younger?"

She feels Zuko shift beside her.  "No, you didn't."

"Yeah," she says.  "I think it was because there was such a sense of _finality_ about the position we were in.  All of the other waterbenders were gone, and here I was, the only waterbender in the new generation."  She glances toward Aang.  "No one knew whether Aang was still alive or not.  Water is next in the cycle, so they wondered."  She shakes her head.  "I'm sure many parents in the Northern Water Tribe wondered the same thing."

"I'm glad you weren't the Avatar," Zuko says, kissing her shoulder and reaching to smooth their daughter's barely-there head of hair.

"Why's that?"

"You'd have been much more distracting to chase."

Katara bursts out laughing and Zuko looks offended, insisting, "You're much prettier than Aang is."

"I'd better be," Katara says, kissing him gently and then staring him down until the affronted look on his face softens.  "But I'm glad, too.  I'm happy I was able to _help_ end the war, to teach Aang waterbending, but...I like what I have now, too.  I’m not like Aang—he's restless.  He always will be.  He has to travel the world and keep peace.  And I just...want what we have.  I want a home and a family and I have that here, with you.  As a waterbending master and an unofficial ambassador and a wife and a mother."

"Sometimes I'm pretty sure you just married me so you'd have councilmen to boss around," Zuko deadpans.

"I do like bossing people around," Katara agrees with feigned superciliousness, and it almost feels like they're teenagers again, and she's telling their friends to clean up after themselves when they've left a mess of porridge and bowls around the breakfast-fire.

But then one of their children's exuberant shouts breaks through the air, and the moment is broken.

Katara laughs, and Zuko does, too.  The baby in her arms gurgles in response, and soon after, their other children come tumbling over with Aang in tow.  The entire group heads to the kitchens in search of custard, and Katara lingers behind with Zuko, watching.

It’s what she seems to do best in this phase of her life, with her growing family to oversee.

She smiles and accepts when Zuko offers to share his custard with her.  “None for you, little one,” he says to the baby in her arms.  “Not yet.”

And Katara is glad she’s not the Avatar, because then she wouldn’t have all of this.

.

.

.

_tbc._


	3. iii. memories

_iii. memories_

.

.

.

"The Shu Jing province is asking for a remission of taxes because of the flooding that destroyed their harvest this year," Zuko says, eyes roaming over the scrolls he holds as he and Katara walk down one of the halls of the Fire Palace.  It's late, and their main source of light comes from the sconces that line the walls.

Beside him, keeping pace with his distracted stride, Katara shuffles through scrolls of her own.

"The governor is requesting to keep the extra money so that they can buy food to make up for their food shortage, but _we_ need the money here in the capital to pay for war reparations."  He frowns.  He dislikes having to clean up other people's messes, but it seems like that's all he's been doing all his life, ever since he came into his own, once his mother was gone and Iroh helped him figure out how to stand on his own two feet.

He’d hoped once the war was over, that would stop, but he is still up to his neck in providing supplies and trade deals for the nations his ancestors oppressed.

"Tell them to send the money anyway and have one of the neighboring provinces send them extra food in exchange for blacksmithing help," Katara says.  "You studied under Piandao; you know that region has access to some excellent smiths.  That way both provinces have something they need and _we_ can still make our payments on time.  We won't have to ask for Aang's help to appease the Earth King—well, the Earth King's officials," she amends, "while we scrape the bottom of the barrel for funds to make our payments on rice taxes."

Zuko stops walking for a moment, and Katara scoots to a stop beside him.  He kisses her temple and says, "This is why you were the absolute best choice for me to marry."

"Was it a competition?" she shoots back, but her smile, though distracted, is pleased.

They keep walking in the general direction of their bedroom, but they are so absorbed in their discussion that both of them jump when Mai and Ty Lee round the corner and greet them.  The women are dressed in their Kyoshi Warrior garb and Mai holds a small black bundle in her hands.

"Hi, guys!" Ty Lee grins and waves.

"Spirits, Ty Lee, you're going to give me a heart attack one of these days," Zuko grumbles.

“I haven’t yet, and I’ve known you for years,” Ty Lee replies cheerfully, reaching out to pat his shoulder affectionately.

Katara is still studying one of the scrolls, but Mai shoots out a hand and knocks it away from her.

"Hey!" Katara says, finally looking up, affronted.  "I was reading that!"

"I know," Mai replies drily.

"So...what's up?" Zuko asks.  It can't be anything too urgent—Mai and Ty Lee are two of Suki's best warriors, and if there were a problem, they'd be quick to act and wouldn't stand here making small talk, or some semblance of it.

Mai sighs and pushes the bundle toward him.  "You two need to get out."

Zuko raises his eyebrow.  "...What?"

"Suki's orders," Ty Lee chirps, starting to count off reasons on her fingers as she speaks.  "She says you two are working too hard, and when you work too hard, you get tired, and when you get tired, you won't be able to fight as well _if it comes down to it_ , which we all hope it won't _again_ , but you never know, and..."

"You need to chill out," Mai cuts in, "and live a little."

"So you're giving us black outfits?"  Katara lifts a shirt from the pile that now resides in Zuko's arms.  "What's that got to do with 'living a little'?"

Mai smiles, the curve of her lips small but serene.  "Ask your husband," she says, "and tell him not to get caught on the spike by the eastern gate this time."

Katara turns to Zuko with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh...yeah," he says, shifting his shoulders awkwardly.  "They want us to sneak out of the palace."

"...Why?"

"Because it's fun, apparently."  He glares at Ty Lee, who flips onto her hands before she grins at him.  "And we've been working too hard."

"You _have_ ," Ty Lee retorts from her position upside-down.  “You’re too busy and too _responsible_ ; when's the last time you two even skipped a meeting just for fun—"

"—and that's our cue to go."  Mai rolls her eyes.  "Suki and Meng are on guard tonight; we just finished our shift.  They're outside your room now.  Go get changed and...gallivant or whatever."

.

.

.

_“Whatever it is they're going to do”_ turns out to be sneaking out of the palace with only _two_ “hidden” guards, dressed in black under the new moon's prevalent shadows, sneaking through city streets with no particular purpose in mind except _breathing_ without the weight of formal strictures on them.

“I used to have some _purpose_ when I did this,” Zuko grumbles in Katara’s ear when they’ve stopped in the shadows near an alleyway.

“Are you really complaining that we haven’t found anyone committing crimes yet?” Katara asks skeptically, her own whisper breathless from the quick pace they’ve been keeping.

“It’s not that they’re not committing them,” Zuko points out, “it’s just that we haven’t found them yet.”

“Does the Fire Lord really need another vigilante to deal with?”

And Katara is off walking again, leading him through the shadows toward the near-abandoned marketplace.

“I’d need my mask for another Blue Spirit sighting to be reported.”

Katara laughs, the sound bouncing softly into the dulling night.

Another dark corner, and they stop again to reorient themselves.  They should head back, soon—it’s past midnight now and they have meetings early.

“But your mask would make it a lot harder to do this,” Katara points out, and pulls him in for a long kiss.

And _this_ , this is better, if much more self-serving, than catching criminals or long-ago nights flying on Appa, seeking vengeance for old wrongs.

This is like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

“There are guards—” he mutters, pulling away.

Katara grins up at him.  “You think they haven’t figured out we like each other yet?”

Zuko sighs.  “Let’s just get home.”

They turn toward the palace and take their return pace a little more slowly now that they don’t have a sense of urgency, of finding where they’re headed in the dark.

“But let’s do this again sometime soon,” he says.

Katara squeezes his hand, and he returns the gesture.

.

.

.

_tbc._


	4. iv. lilac

_iv. lilac_

.

.

.

When Fire Lord Zuko and Fire Lady Katara announce the impending birth of their fourth child, the councilmen are politely pleased.  The public of Caldera takes it as an excuse for a celebration that makes extra work for the capital’s sanitation workers the next morning.  Hawky arrives from Kyoshi Island with Suki’s congratulations and Sokka’s, “Man, is this a conspiracy to make me spend all my money on birthday presents so that I don’t have any left to bet decently against you when we play pai sho?  Because it will fail; I will still bet that I can beat you and I will win and I will win enough money from you to buy presents for the small village you’re raising, so you will actually be buying them birthday presents _twice_ ,” scrawled as a post-script on the bottom.  (He sends along another child-sized boomerang, despite his protests.)

It’s only when they tell Iroh in person, when he visits from Ba Sing Se shortly after they make the news public, that they receive sincere joy from their announcement.  “This is wonderful news!” Iroh says with a wide smile, folding his hands over his stomach and shaking his head in delight.  “Your three older ones must be very happy to have another sibling on the way.”

“The girls are,” Zuko admits, “but they’re old enough to remember when their brother was born.”

“He’ll have a playmate close to his age,” Iroh nods as if this decides the goodness of the matter.  “And the baby will be born—” he pauses for a moment, moves his hands and glances at the ceiling as he figures the dates, “—close to your eighth wedding anniversary!  Two numbers of good fortune converging—a fourth child on an eighth anniversary—yes, this child will be blessed.”

“More than our others?” Katara asks mildly, raising an eyebrow and smiling at Iroh over her teacup.

Iroh shakes his head and returns the smile, although his eyes look a little watery.  “No more than the others, my dear.  They are all good fortune, and I am so pleased to see my nephew happy and with a growing family.”

Katara reaches out and places her hand over Iroh’s, squeezing gently.  “We think so, too.”

.

.

.

Months later, when the morning sun has risen just enough to paint the cityscape with orange light, sprawling like a broken egg yolk, it slats through the screens in front of the door to the balcony.  Katara squints at the intruding light with something like anger, but she's too tired to actually feel the full extent of that emotion.  Or to roll over so that her back faces the light.

She almost jumps when Zuko puts his arm around her and scoots up behind her.

"You're still here," she mumbles sleepily.

She feels the movement of his shrug before he leans in to kiss the back of her head.  "It's our anniversary.  Missing one morning of meditation won't kill me."

"Mmmm, you're sweet."  She reaches up to pat his hand.

"Don't tell anyone; it might ruin my reputation."

"I thought it was already ruined.  You married a Water Tribe woman, after all."

Zuko snorts and pulls her closer.  "Best decision of my life."

"Right."  Katara is awake enough now to use her arms to maneuver herself over to face him.  The baby is due any day now, and that makes the movement something like a five-step process.

Her ensuing sigh is tinged with hints of bitterness, but Zuko only takes advantage of her change in position to kiss her, and she's distracted enough that she almost forgets that her womb has swollen to the size of a giant melon and every other part of her body feels swollen, too, and she almost looks forward to going through labor just because she knows the feeling of _relief_ that will come afterwards.

It’s not an absolute wish for the baby to come that day, but it’s almost one.

.

.

.

The contractions start a few hours later, and Katara walks into Zuko’s office and sits down with a sigh.

He looks up from his paperwork with a look that softens when he realizes it’s her.  “What?”

“Iroh is going to be _so smug_ ,” she says, by way of letting him know.

Even though they’ve done this before, he looks a little panicky.  “We should call the midwife, huh?”

“Before too long,” Katara agrees.

.

.

.

The baby isn’t born until the next day—“Late,” Zuko pronounces, his tone at odds with the soft awe that paints his face, after their new daughter is safely nestled, calmed from her new-to-the-world squalling, in her mother’s arms, and Katara pushes his shoulder in gentle protest—but Iroh still calls her “little lucky one” when he croons over his new grand-niece for the first time a few weeks later.

He brings her a swaddling wrap of soft lilac material—“wonderful for a princess, to help her sleep, something new that her sisters didn’t have first,”—and Katara laughs because _of course_ Iroh would find the exact shade of blue and red that seems best suited for a fragile baby girl.

“It’s perfect, Uncle,” she says.  “Thank you.”

.

.

.

_tbc._


	5. v. fever

_v. fever_

.

.

.

“Zuko, you’re sick.  You need to go back to bed.”  There is no question in Katara’s voice, but Zuko glances at the children who are waiting to go to the zoo and figuratively plants his feet.

“I don’t need to.”  He crosses his arms, and Katara raises her eyebrows.  “I’m not _sick_ ,” he insists, even though his throat feels swollen and he feels warmer than usual.  “I’m on vacation; I can’t be sick.”

Their kids are fidgety by the door, the youngest one halfway out before her older sister grabs her back in; she wails and kicks while her brother pulls the door shut.

“Iroh can take the kids to the zoo,” Katara says gently, and Zuko _knows that tone_ —it’s the one that says she’s going to take care of him, whether he likes it or not.  He can’t tell if he’s relieved at the prospect of collapsing back into bed or disappointed that he won’t get to take the kids to the zoo.

But it’s not like he hasn’t seen it before.

(He remembers when it first reopened outside the city’s walls, although he hadn’t known that Aang was the cause, back then.  He only knew that Uncle had dragged him there with too much fervor and embarrassed him thoroughly with too much enthusiasm.  _It’s a zoo, Uncle_ , he’d said.  _It’s just a bunch of smelly animals._   Uncle had countered with the argument that _animals are some of the finer appreciations in life, like a good tea_.  Zuko hadn’t seen the comparison then.  He’s still not sure he sees it now, although he appreciates his uncle much more deeply and much more openly than he did then, as an angry sixteen-year-old.)

“Okay, okay,” he says, slowly lowering the bag he was holding to the floor.  “I’ll go back to bed.”

Katara gives him a gentle shove in the right direction and goes to speak to Iroh, who then explains to their (now delighted) children that “Great-Uncle Iroh is taking you to the zoo by himself today, which means you will have to behave extra well—you older ones, help me watch the younger ones—and _if_ you behave extra well, you may earn yourselves some extra treats.”

Zuko barely hears the exchange, and he’s almost asleep by the time Katara comes up and gives him a drink of water.

.

.

.

When Zuko wakes up, he realizes with groggy disorientation that he’s been asleep long enough for the kids and Iroh to go to the zoo and come back, extra treats and all, because he can hear Katara talking quietly with Iroh on the other side of the room before he opens his eyes.

“Katara?” he calls, voice scratchy, and she comes to his side quickly, the bed dipping with her weight as she sits down before he’s had time to creak his tired eyes open.  He still feels too hot, his limbs too heavy, and his throat aches.

He hates being sick.

“Hey,” she says, pushing some of his hair out of his face with skin that feels too cool against his own fever.  “You awake enough for me to heal you now?”

“Yeah,” he says.  “My throat hurts, but other than that, I think it’s just the fever.”

“Okay,” she says with a smile, drawing water from a nearby basin, “let’s get started.”

It’s soothing and strange all at once, being healed by Katara.  She has grown more and more powerful as she studies the healing arts, and she can heal subtler illnesses with as much skill as she mends bones and burns, now.  Zuko closes his eyes and lets her work while she and uncle talk quietly.

“I told you you’ve been working too hard,” she says to him, but her voice holds no heat.  They _both_ have been working too hard—they have, ever since the war.  There is so much to fix, and they have a country to rule and children to raise.  There’s always too much to do.

“You were right,” he mumbles, “but I still don’t like being sick on vacation.”

“The body takes its rest how it can,” Iroh says from where he’s come over to watch Katara work.  “Nephew, you know that as well as anybody.”  He hums softly, deep in his throat, and Zuko’s subconscious tells him the story’s coming, but Iroh speaks before Zuko can form the words to warn him against it.

Katara’s healing water is cool against his neck as she works to disperse the infection, and Zuko closes his eyes again and lets himself focus on that while Iroh embarrasses him—even without the zoo in the mix, this time, he thinks wryly—in front of his wife.

“Did my nephew ever tell you about the time he became ill during the war, when we were here in Ba Sing Se?”

Zuko must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing he knows, he hears Katara asking with soft incredulity, “You dreamt you were _Aang_?”

“It could have been any airbender,” Zuko corrects sleepily.  “I don’t know for sure it was Aang.”

“I see,” Katara says.  “Because that makes _such_ a difference.”

“It does,” he protests mildly, and he feels the cool of the water leave where Katara had been working.

“I think I’ve done all I can for now,” Katara says, and Zuko hears the _splash_ of water as it returns to the basin.  “Rest, Zuko.  Iroh and I can handle the kids for the night.  I’ll be in later.”

“Mmhm.”   Zuko is nearly asleep again, already.

“And I’ll be sure to tell you about all the fun things you missed out on while you were asleep,” Katara adds over her shoulder, just before she leaves the room.

He can’t see her teasing smile through his closed eyelids, but he can hear it in her voice.

“ _Ha ha, very funny_.” 

.

.

.

_tbc._


	6. vi. coffee

_vi. coffee_

.

.

.

“There are worse things,” Katara concedes after the fact, “than being dragged out of bed before the sun rises for an emergency meeting.”

It is now late afternoon, and the splotches of golden sunshine that melt through the window-screens of the Jasmine Dragon seem sleepy in the summer heat.

Zuko and Katara, taking advantage of the slump before the early evening rush, maintain the bare minimum of decorum at a table in the corner of the shop.  It’s too tiring to sit upright.

Negotiations with leaders of the Earth Kingdom’s many provinces have dragged on for a week longer than originally planned, with the next phase of collaboration for former Fire Nation colonies about to start.  The “emergency” meeting this morning had not been an emergency at all, nothing that couldn’t have been discussed at a more reasonable hour, but still, they were dragged from their beds too early.

Zuko laughs, the sound low and rough.  “Lots of things are worse.”  He yawns.  “I still think we’re getting more sleep here than we would if we were home.”

“I miss the kids,” Katara says, even as she nods in agreement and stifles her own yawn with a rueful smile, “even if being around them makes it seem like someone is always awake.”

“Me, too.”

The silence stretches as the last customer leaves and a lull emerges, but then Iroh walks over with a smile.

“This is new,” he says, and passes a steaming cup of something that definitely does _not_ smell like tea to both of them.  “It’s made from a bean from the southern Earth Kingdom, helps keep you awake.  I know you two have a dinner to attend tonight, and you look like you’re about to collapse.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Katara says with a smile, but across from her, Zuko eyes the cup suspiciously before he picks it up.

“What _is_ it?” he asks, reaching out slowly and raising it, breathing in the harsh scent before he takes a sip.

“It’s coffee,” Iroh replies, and the old man doesn’t hide his smile as his nephew and niece both make disgusted faces after the first taste.  “You get used to it,” he adds generously.

“Thank you, Uncle.”  Zuko echoes Katara’s reply politely, but Iroh only laughs and claps him on the shoulder.

Zuko goes into a coughing fit, and Katara has to cajole him before he finishes the cup.

.

.

.

_tbc._


	7. vii. candles

_vii. candles_

.

.

.

“Here, Mama.”

Their oldest child, already a precocious four-year-old, turns to Katara and hands her a candle she must have culled from one of the baskets filled, ready and waiting, for the attending nonbenders by the pavilion entrance.

It is the day of the midsummer feast, the day of the solstice, and the Fire Nation takes the day off from their labors to soak in their element, to drown in its humid flares under too-bright sunlight.

Being the Fire Lord’s wife has more unnecessary pomp than Katara had expected when she was seventeen and flush with new kisses and even then, more worried about the effect their marriage would have on the nations than about how it would impact her daily life, but she is largely used to it now.  Now, she walks with the confidence that she always had but also with the practice that comes from years of navigating this nation’s customs and court, alongside her family to the pavilion where Zuko will light the flame of Agni to honor the day.  The ceremony is short, but the feast that follows is long.

And already, Katara is ready for sleep, for shade and shelter from the swelling heat.

Instead, she takes the candle from her daughter and says, “Thank you, sweetie,” just as Zuko says, “Your mother is a waterbender; she doesn’t need the flame.”

The child’s forehead crinkles; she must not remember last year, when Katara stood beside them in a respectful stance but did not light her own flame in the ceremony, being neither firebender nor nonbender.  “But everyone needs a flame today,” she protests.  “You said so, Daddy.”

“I did,” Zuko says, smiling as they take their place behind the guards at the front of the crowd.  “But your mother is an exception.  Today isn’t her day, although she still respects our ceremonies.”  He smiles at Katara, too, and reaches over to squeeze her hand.

She had participated the first few years that she’d been in the Fire Nation, holding up a candle to honor history not her own, but it had never felt right, and she wasn’t sure of the line to draw between respect and discomfort.  When she’d brought it up to Zuko, he’d said she didn’t have to participate if she didn’t want to—but she also didn’t want to provide any fodder for critics who were already uncomfortable with the fact that the Fire Lord had married a Water Tribe wife.  They’d had to foil too many assassination attempts already.  But Zuko had insisted, and in the end, it seemed that most people understood.  The ones who didn’t were the ones who were looking for disruption anyway.

But now their daughter wants her to actively participate…and Katara can’t say no to the hope welling in those golden eyes.

Minutes later, after a minor official has given a short speech and Zuko has given a slightly longer one, Katara raises her candle with the crowd—firebenders making small flames in their palms, nonbenders holding candles aloft—to welcome to the sun and its might.

The flames lower, and Katara breathes in, out, in, out, finding her inner balance again.  The Fire Nation is not what it once was—it is recovering, as the world is, as _she_ and _Zuko_ are.

She blows out the candle she holds, Zuko snuffs the flame in his own hand after he’s lit the ceremonial lantern, and she checks to make sure their daughters have appropriately snuffed their candles, too.  The younger cries because some wax dribbled on her fingers, and Katara leans down to kiss the offended digits while her older sister tells her, “That’s what happens when you play with fire but you have to be a big girl like me and not let it hurt you.”

Zuko smiles at her over their heads, and she smiles back.  As she straightens, she reaches for his hand, and they both take one child’s hand, and walk to the palanquin that will take them to the festival together.

.

.

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_fin._


End file.
